


In the Solar

by Maracuya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Forced Kiss, Older Man/Younger Woman, Post-The Battle of the Blackwater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 19:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13818222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: Tywin has just re-gained his position as the king's Hand.





	In the Solar

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything and I don't mean to make any money of this. All the credit goes to GRRM. Please don't repost elsewhere.

Tywin looked around. The chain of the Hand was heavy around his neck, but he knew he was strong enough to wear it. To be back after all these years! Back at the frontline of the Game of Thrones. Tywin inhaled.

He gazed at the desk in the Hand's solar. He still knew the piece of furniture like the back of his hand. Scrolls and missives covered it like they had always done.

 

Tywin grasped the chair in front of the desk and sat down. After the colourful mummery in the throne room in the wake of the Battle of the Blackwater, Tywin was glad to come back to his office work. This was where his oaf of a grandson wouldn't interfere. Joffrey was clearly coming after Robert, considering how uninterested he obviously was in day-to-day ruling. I lack of interest borne of incapability. Tywin could already see as much, even after such a short time back in the capital.

 

“ _The Roses from Highgarden will know it, too,”_ he mused and allowed himself to grimace since nobody was watching.

The new betrothal to Lady Margaery was something he didn't like at all. Tywin was convinced that the Stark girl would have been the better choice, because she'd have been more tractable. According to Cersei, Sansa Stark was a retarded blob of a boneless creature. Now Cersei's knowledge of human nature was diminished by bias, to put it mildly. Still, Tywin remembered late Lord Eddard and Catelyn Stark from years prior – and considering the parentage, one couldn't expect any cunning on their daughter's part.

The Young Wolf certainly showed that he had less wisdom in his entire juvenile head than Tywin in a single thought. The youngster's downfall after having married on a whim despite having been engaged to a Frey woman was only a matter of time. Tywin cast a short glance at a secret paper he had just received from the Twins. Ah, things could improve, and soon, if only...

 

The big problem was that Joffrey was a bratty imbecile. How on earth had the boy been so stupid to order Lord Stark's execution? Tywin shook his head lightly.

At the rate his grandson was losing support due to his sadism, Tywin was starting to put his money on little Tommen to have to take over the king's position rather sooner than later.

 

Tywin hissed.

Really, he had done so much to ensure his family's legacy, but his offspring seemed to be intent on throwing everything to the winds.

“ _Not as long as I still draw breath,”_ Tywin vowed to himself.

With new vigour, he threw himself onto the tasks at hand and started to tear through the most important correspondence.

 

After some hours, there was a knock on his door.

An elderly servant emerged and said, “Lady Sansa Stark is asking to see you.”

Tywin blinked. What in the name of...?

After a long moment, he answered, “Lead her in.”

With those words, he grasped the more secret papers and put them into an embossed leather folder.

 

Within the minute, Lady Sansa appeared in the room. She was very erect and tall for her age. The very image of her mother. Beautiful as well, though her dress was too tight to be truly elegant. Back in he throne room, Tywin hadn't really looked at her, even when Joffrey had ended the betrothal; his mind had been ocupied with other things.

 

The girl – or rather the young woman – had schooled her features, but she swallowed when she faced him.

Lord Tywin stood up and approached her. It caused her shoulders to tense. He was used to such reactions and didn't give one whit about them.

 

“Lady Sansa,” he said in a flat voice. “What do you want?”

Her blue eyes darted towards him, then into the room, then back at him, and then to her feet.

“Good afternoon, Lord Lannister,” she said in a small voice. “I beg your pardon for interrupting you. It is just... Now that His Grace has ended his betrothal with me I wanted to ask if you've already got new plans for me. Surely a man of your station and experience will have got alternative ideas for my future.”

 

Now  _that_ was interesting. Tywin clasped his hands on his back.

“If you've already come to this conclusion – what do you think I might have in store for you?”

Lady Sansa uttered a shaky breath... and looked him in the eyes. Very few people ever did. Tywin lifted an eyebrow and cocked his head.

 

“My lord, you... might want to get rid of me.”

Tywin whistled internally at this. If only she knew what he was planning for her brother.

“What else?” he asked in a nondescript tone.

Sansa Stark swallowed again and looked back at her feet.

“You... wouldn't let me become a Silent Sister, would you?”

Tywin snorted. That was all the answer it needed.

 

Lady Sansa bit her lip.

“Tell me,” Tywin growled.

The young woman stared into the distance, and her breathing accelerated. Her voice was like brittle metal when she spoke.

“You're a widower, and your sons are either not available or not suitable as Lannister heirs.”

 

Had Sansa Stark swirled a morning star at him out of the blue, Tywin wouldn't have reacted any differently. Never before in his life had he been so close to gaping at someone open-mouthed. He even had to cough into his hand.

 

After a moment, he managed to ask, “And what makes you think I might consider a match with a traitor's daughter?”

If Sansa Stark had been tense before, her body became even more rigid now.

Nevertheless, she managed to answer, “I've got a family legacy of 8,000 years.”

“Mmmh,” Tywin made. “I could also declare Lancel my heir and marry you off to him. He'll survive his wounds from the battle, according to the maesters.”

 

At that, Lady Sansa's eyes became so unnaturally wide and her complexion so cheesy that Tywin could only ask himself what the fuck had happened in the Red Keep that would cause this young woman to think of the Lion of Lannister as the lesser evil. Then, he thought of what his informants had told him. It explained a lot.

 

Aloud, he said, “As a matter of fact, there are other, more pressing things to consider than your case. I'll inform you of my decision when the time has come.”

Lady Sansa shrank a few inches at his words.

“I see. Thank you, my lord.”

Tywin thought the meeting to be over when the young woman looked up again, a hollow expression in her eyes.

“One more question please, my lord.”

“Hm?”

“I've heard some gossip about you from the courtiers. Now... How have you managed to live without love or happiness for so long? I'd like to learn from your example.”

 

Tywin tautened like a bowstring. Had he been able to think he probably would have considered Sansa Stark suicidal... but his mind was blank.

On impulse, he grabbed the young woman's arm and pressed her against the next wall.

“What do you know about love and happiness, GIRL?” Tywin frothed.

 

Sansa Stark started to tremble. It came as a suprise that she didn't make water on herself. Other people would have done so.

“These days... not much anymore. Not since I saw my father's sword cut off my father's head. That's why I'm asking.”

She was no more than whispering.

 

Tywin loosened the grip on her arms. He flung the next words in her face like a dirty rug.

“You mean – you think we could be lonely together?”

He snorted.

Lady Sansa simply looked at him with her blue eyes and didn't answer – likely because she was at a loss as to what to say.

 

Tywin felt the cruel – and urgent – need to mock her. He stooped above her and scoffed into her face.

“That would be romantic melodrama right after a girl's heart, wouldn't it? Enemies joined in wedlock. What next? Shall we listen to some stupid bards and some songs of how enemies turn into lovers? And should we kiss then – only to choke on the sudden ashes of disgust in our mouths?”

To drive the nail home, he bent lower and pressed his lips onto hers.

 

A hot wave licked up his spine and seared Tywin's core. At once, he tore away from the mouth he had occupied.

When he looked at Sansa Stark, her rosy lips were slightly parted. She was panting and blinking like mad.

What Tywin couldn't find about her was a single trace of disgust. Just confusion. Damn it all. When had a plan of his ever backfired so thoroughly and so quickly?

 

Before he even knew what he was doing, he grasped Lady Sansa's chin and bowed down a second time. This time he was something akin to... hesitant, there was no other word for it. Carefully, he tasted the young woman's soft lips and waited for her to pull away from him.

Only... instead, she started to respond. Even sneaked an arm around his neck and pressed herself against him.

Which weird jape of the gods was this? Nobody wanted to touch him, or to be close to him. Not EVER.

 

Tywin realised he was losing control – and could do as much against it as he could have done against a landslide. Quite the contrary: his tongue set out to explore Lady Sansa's mouth. It earned him a stifled squeak.

Finally, Tywin managed to pull away a second time. He was trembling and panting and couldn't believe what had just happened.

By the look of it, Lady Sansa was in the same situation. Her cheeks were bright red. She coughed.

And then, she said, “My lord... if I can't have love and happiness, I think I want to be lonely with you.”

 

Tywin could only think that this was madness. To make things worse – it was a madness he was willing to agree to.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-shot. But feel free to write a sequel. :-)


End file.
